Zarnow: Valentine's Day is a way of life

Sybela and Roberto Moreno, at their wedding. ANA VENEGAS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Roberto Moreno, in his 20s. ANA VENEGAS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Roberto and Sybela Moreno, married 47 years, share a laugh. Two years ago Sybela was diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer's. The couple say they enjoy each moment and aren't afraid of what the future might hold. ANA VENEGAS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Sybela Moreno, around the time she married Roberto. ANA VENEGAS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Roberto promptly admits to 72, but Sybela comes out with 46 – quite a feat considering they have been married nearly 47 years.

This is a crack-up moment and they laugh before Roberto gently reminds his wife that she is 66.

It's as funny as it is heartbreaking.

You can't help but enjoy the closeness of this couple, cuddling on the couch and sharing a lifetime of love and memories. You want to warm yourself in their glow.

But it's chilling to realize that Sybela is beginning to forget the facts of her life. Two years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. And in this season of Cupid and hearts, you wonder if these two have special insight into the enduring nature of love. They've had times that were better, and a few that were worse. And, yes, they've been through health and now another sickness.

She was a student at UCLA and he was earning a master's at USC in clinical social work. They share a Latino heritage: He is first-generation Mexican American and she is from Peru.

"I fell in love with her at first sight," Roberto recalls. "She was lovely."

She remembers that he talked a lot.

He says their relationship was "intense." Four months later they eloped to Las Vegas and she quit school. Later, they remarried in the church.

Roberto says they were the least likely couple to succeed.

And yet they have.

These are the metrics: two children, two grandchildren, six houses, 30 years in Northern California, and 11 years living in Orange.

They've learned accommodation. He was intense about work, butting heads with the establishment and advocating for better ways to serve children.

Translation: long hours.

She was home with the kids.

Their photo albums have a "Forrest Gump" feel, a visual for the rapid social changes that swept society and empowered minorities and women. Their hair is long and longer before it's cut short or turns gray.

She finished school at UC Santa Cruz, and by the time their children started high school, Sybela had a career as an elementary school teacher.

One day on the playground, Sybela was hit by a hardball, twisting and injuring her back. The injury was compounded by a second fall in 1997 that did severe spinal damage.

She spent two years in a wheelchair in constant pain, eventually learning to walk again. She still undergoes therapy.

Sybela wanted to handle the doctors and therapy by herself, but Roberto insisted on being involved.

"I went through everything with her," he says.

Good preparation, as it turns out.

•••

The defining moment was two years ago, when Sybela was going to visit her sister in Irvine.

"I didn't know what to do to get out of the house. ... I drove the wrong way. ... All of the sudden, I couldn't think."

She never drove again.

Sybela had observed the drastic changes in her father from Alzheimer's, so she knows how her story will end. But she says her spinal injuries prepared her for this challenge.

"When I knew what I had, I moved on to: What can I do about it? Alzheimer's is easier. I can still walk."

This day, Sybela follows the conversation and has plenty to add. Yet she is aware that at times fog obscures her thoughts.

"My brain is stuck," she exclaims, when a word eludes her.

Roberto, who shops and cooks and dispenses her medications, is the stationmaster of their schedule.

He says the diagnosis sent them into a deep funk for three months.

"Then I decided: We're gonna take this on."

After acceptance came action.

The Morenos credit family, church and the resources of the local chapter of the Alzheimer's Association with helping them. They took several classes and attend support groups, some at the nearby Tustin Senior Center.

There's knowledge and comfort to be gained from openly sharing with others. Roberto says the "alumni," or spouses who previously traveled the same road, are his role models for caring.

Sybela says she's not frightened.

"Roberto tells me: 'I'm here for you.'"

•••

Yes, the future could be dark. They've prepared with legal documents and instructions, but their focus is not on that.

"The stuff of the past is irrelevant," Roberto says. "All we really have is the moment. ... It's the 'now' that counts. How we choose to be with each other is what sustains us."

They've learned to cope with unpleasant moments. No point to petty arguments. They laugh and tease and allow themselves to just be silly.

Yes, but what happens to your relationship when one partner becomes caregiver? Does duty edge out love? Does gratitude create a debt?

Roberto doesn't think so.

He reframes my questions: "What are you willing to do for someone you love?"

He doesn't see this as a test of him; it's a manifestation of his love for her. Taking care of his wife makes him feel good.

"In the process of doing it, you accept it. It gives her pleasure, and puts her at ease. If she's at ease, then I'm at ease."

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